


Fit for Duty

by CapnShellhead



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Avengers Vol. 1 (1963), Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 07:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17762024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnShellhead/pseuds/CapnShellhead
Summary: When Steve was growing up, there wasn't a name for things like this. You fought in a war and you served your country.And if you couldn't sleep at night, you shut up about it.





	Fit for Duty

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this took a long time to write and that was mostly because, psych nerd that I am, I wanted to shove way too much of the history of the disorder into this. That branched out into exploring the symptoms present in other characters in the comics. Honestly, I'm shocked this wasn't over 30k words. But, here it is.
> 
> Just a note, no two presentations of PTSD are exactly the same. Every single person is different.
> 
> Warning: I didn't see a tag for this but the start of this fic features a rather insensitive and violent reaction to a character discussing their mental illness.

Edward McCarrick was a big man.

If there was one thing Steve had learned at an early age, it was that. Built like a lumberjack, towering and burly with thick bulging muscles from years working construction. Eddie always smelled of tobacco and charcoal, his hands blackened and cracked. He was tall; Steve had never seen anyone so tall. He had thick black hair, a bushy beard, gruff features, and a permanent scowl on his face. But he was kind.

When Steve was four years old, the annual, city-wide Christmas parade cut a line through their neighborhood. Steve had begged and pleaded with his mother to take him down to see the dancers. Buried in papers at the kitchen table, she’d been too busy going over the weekly expenses, so, Eddie had offered to take to him. Picked Steve up in his powerful arms and held him high over his head, where Steve could see _everything!_ So high that one of the dancers had even spotted him, tossing a flower his way with a dazzling smile. He’d smiled so hard, his face hurt afterwards. It was one of his fondest memories.

This wouldn’t be.

Steve had woken late that night to discomfort, his bed warm and damp. Five years old and he’d wet the bed. Stark terror set in, ears pealed for any sign of his father’s heavy footsteps. Face burning with shame, his fingers tightened in his soiled bedclothes. After some time, Steve clambered out of bed, his pajamas sticking to his legs. He knew, should he try to wake his mother, he’d run the risk of waking his father, as well.

Instead, he padded over to his drawers and changed his pants. Then, he stripped the bed, ears straining for any sound in the hall. His heart beat fast in his chest, hands shaking as he bundled the damp sheets in his small arms. There was a spare set in the hall closet. Threadbare and torn in one corner, but they would do. The washing line hung in the frosty winter air outside their kitchen door. If Steve could wash his sheets and hang them in time, he might be able to hide this. Wake up early and take them down before his father woke for breakfast. Steve had done it before.

The hall was dark, the quiet patter of rain on the rooftop, a near silent trickle into the bucket by the door. Steve tip toed across the cold floor, his breathing too loud in his ears. Then, he heard voices.

“I don’t want to hear this crap, Eddie!”

“It’s not crap, Joe. There’s something seriously wrong with me.”

“Yeah, someone’s been messing with your head!” Steve crept closer, his heart in his throat.

“I’m just trying to tell you, I think I have a problem.”

“Christ,” his father hissed. Steve peeked around the corner and watched him run a frustrated hand over his head. Red faced and towering over Eddie where he leaned against the wall, his head lowered. They were crowded in one of the corners, the table pushed off center. “What are you sayin’?”

“I don’t know—”

“Well, I know,” his father growled, shoving at Eddie’s chest. He hit the wall with a loud thump, his head cracking against the plaster. His eyes cut to Joe’s, wide and fearful. “You’re a soldier. You did your job. Now, shut up about this. You trying to back out of another war?”

“I’m not trying to do anything. Listen to me,” he pleaded. Steve had never heard him beg. “Sometimes, I look at my wife and I don’t recognize her. I wake up some mornings and I don’t even know where I am. Some days, I can hardly get out of bed. My kid woke me early Christmas morning and I nearly clocked him. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I see their faces every night –”

Joe smacked him clean across the face, his lip curled in disgust. Steve’s stomach twisted violently, legs locking up in fear.

Eddie’s head whipped to the side, stringy hair shielding his eyes. Joe gripped his shoulder, his words a low hiss. “You listen to me, you’re _fine_.”

Eddie’s face twisted in pain, eyes glimmering in the dim light. “Joe, I can’t,” he took in a shuddering breath, “it’s starting to scare me—”

Joe slapped him again, jutting a finger in his face. “You’re fine! You hear me? You fought in a war. You did your job. And you better be ready if your number comes up again. Do you hear me?” Eddie looked to him hopelessly, eyes clenching shut as Joe slammed him into the wall. “You hear me?”

A tremor ran through Steve’s body as he watched Eddie’s jaw quiver. Another blow and Eddie let out a pitiable whimper, nodding jerkily. A tear escaped and Steve’s hands tightened around the bundle in his arms. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Eddie cry before.

“You hear me?” Eddie nodded again. “What are you?” Silence. “Answer me,” he demanded, smacking his hand against the wall and triggering a startled jerk.

“’M a soldier,” Eddie bit out, his breathing ragged, eyes wide and searching.

“You a coward?” Eddie shook his head, his face crumpling. “I ain’t friends with no cowards. You gonna make me a liar?” he demanded.

Eddie shook his head, eyes welling up as he raised his chin. “No, Joe. You’re not a liar.”

Joe studied him for a while, his gaze shrewd and doubtful. Finally, he stepped back with a short nod, picking up a bottle and starting out of the room. Steve straightened, hurrying to hide in the hall closet.

“Clean yourself up,” Joe called back. As he passed by the closet, he muttered, “Filling his head with all kinds of nonsense.” He disappeared into his bedroom.

Steve waited, heart pounding in his chest. When all was quiet, he padded out of the closet and shut the door carefully behind him. He glanced down the darkened hallway towards his room. He should go back to bed; maybe he could hide his sheets until his father left for work. His eyes shot back to the crescent of light pouring out from the kitchen.

As he approached, Steve heard a quiet curse. Eddie had turned the lights out, sank down heavily at the table, a candle melting in the center. It was on its last legs, the smell of burning metal more than the flowery scent of lavender. Eddie sniffed, wiping at his eyes angrily, swollen and small in his ruddy face. Upon hearing Steve’s quiet footsteps, he stiffened, sitting up straight and pasting on a watery smile.

“Hey, string bean,” he rasped.

Looking into his face, Steve forced himself to smile back. Eddie’s beard was overgrown, scragglier than Steve had ever seen. His face worn, sallow and drawn. He was thinner than Steve had ever seen him, his clothes hanging off of him like they’d been handed down by someone much larger. And his eyes – lost, sunken in his face like stones at the bottom of a river. He looked much too old for a man of thirty-two. Steve stared at him, trying to find the man who used to play catch with him and buy him sweets when he was sick. Instead, he saw only a stranger.

Eddie set his bottle down and opened his arms. Hesitating for a moment, Steve’s legs locked in place, but Eddie looked so sad. Steve rushed into them, squeezing back. Eddie always gave the best hugs. Warm and tight, as long as Steve wanted, like his mother’s. When Steve pulled away, Eddie’s voice was stronger.

“What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he replied. Quietly, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’m fine, Stevie.” He wiped at his eyes again, studying the bottle. “I just get sad sometimes,” he explained with a smile. “That’s all.”

“Why?” Steve wanted to ask if it was because of something his father had done. He made Steve’s mother sad all the time.

“I did some very bad things. And, when I close my eyes, I see the people I hurt.” A tear rolled down his cheek, disappearing into the rough brush of his beard.

Steve thought this over, focusing on Eddie’s hands. Large and dry, one curled around a bottle, the other keeping a steady tapping rhythm on the metal table top. Repetitive and unwavering, almost as if he didn’t realize he was doing it.

“Can’t you tell them you’re sorry?”

Eddie went quiet and Steve looked to him. Watched his jaw tremble before it tensed. The tapping started up again. “No, I can’t, kiddo.” He let out a slow breath. “I wish I could. We hurt people, Stevie.” He met Steve’s eyes, his face pained.

Steve was more than a little confused. His father spoke of the war like serving was a great honor. The papers made it sound like it was something all real men did. He didn’t understand what Eddie was talking about. Or why he was so sad.

Maybe there was something wrong with Eddie. “Can the doctors make you better?”

Eddie gave a watery laugh, cuffing Steve’s chin. “They don’t got doctors for what I got.” He took a swig of his beer and leaned back in his chair. “But, enough about me. What are you doing up so late? You said you can’t sleep?”

Steve nodded. “Too excited for the New Year?” Steve shook his head. “What is it?”

Face burning, Steve bit his lip in response. But, Eddie had shared something with him. “I wet the bed.”

Eddie smiled reassuringly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, that’s okay. It happens. Nothing to worry about.”

“But my dad—”

Eddie shushed him, pulling him into a hug. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”

Steve hugged him tight, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of tobacco. “I had a nightmare,” he admitted quietly. The rain beat down against the window, thunder cracking in the distant night. He squeezed tighter, Eddie’s forearm a thin band against his back.

“It’s okay to get scared sometimes. Fear keeps you alive.” Eddie stroked his back. “You remember that.”

Eddie always gave the best hugs but, now it felt like he needed them more than Steve did. He held on as long as he could, waiting for Eddie to pull away.

+

Tommy “Tommy Gun” Dunn wasn’t a good soldier.

Not that Steve thought himself an authority on these things. After all, he certainly wasn’t a model soldier. But he knew a deserter when he saw one. Tommy reminded him of the skittish rabbits that used to inhabit Mrs. Baker’s garden back home. More apt to flee at the sight of you than anything else. Barely twenty-one and less than a buck fifteen soaking wet, Tommy wasn’t made for combat. Last to rise and first to quit, he wasn’t much of a scrapper or a shooter or a medic. But the draft orders had come down and Tommy hadn’t found a way out.

On the squad’s third trip away from base, Steve and the boys came back to Camp Lehigh to find Tommy face down in the barracks, gun in hand.

Silent as a grave, nobody moved until Morita veered to the left and lost his breakfast. Dugan checked, just to be certain. No pulse, the smell of gunpowder in the air. Commander Morris was called in and sent everyone away. Steve left with the others, a sour taste in his mouth.

Several feet away, he could still see the blood. The scent of it, the crimson arc painting a halo around Tommy’s blond curls. The spray of it painting the canvas of the tent, so close to where they slept every night.

Pacing, his body strung tight, Steve kept his distance until the Commander called him back. He needed Steve to speak to Danny, Tommy’s bunkmate. Steve forced himself forward, his steps measured and stiff. He took Danny to a small tent on the edge of camp, away from prying eyes. As they moved, Steve could feel everyone’s eyes, curious and accusing. Whispers of all the things Steve hadn’t done.

Danny was silent on the walk over, his footsteps heavy and shuffling. It was concerning – Danny usually never shut up.

Steve sat across from him at a small prop table, his voice soft. “Did you know what Tommy was planning?”

Danny shook vehemently, eyes wide. “No, sir. I – I didn’t. He’d been weird lately. All jumpy, all over the place. Like he couldn’t calm down.” He tugged on his hair, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His eyes were wide and agitated, the dull and muddy brown unusually bright. He strayed away from looking Steve directly in the eye.

“He never said anything to you?”

“No, sir. I barely saw him most days. He was on latrine duty, and kitchen duty, and cleaning duty.”

Steve blinked at him. “What?”

“He asked – or, well, he didn’t – but, the idiot went and told Morris he was having really bad thoughts. Dreams and stuff. He didn’t sleep enough as it is. Used to take lunch breaks to try and fit naps in, but it never really helped. Kept me up all night with his screaming,” he added, a haunted look in his eye.

Steve clasped his hands together. “What did the commander do?”

Danny shrugged, picking at a spot on the table. “Kept him busy. Told him to work it off. Work until he was tired.” Danny scratched at his temple, his hand trembling. For a moment, a split second, Steve heard the quiet tapping of a weathered wedding band against wood. Sunken eyes staring back at him. “I told him not to say anything. I told him,” Danny insisted, his eyes wide and searching. “I told him that’s not what we do, you know?”

Steve held his gaze, his voice low. “No, I don’t know.” Danny froze, his eyes shuttering. “Danny, are you having these thoughts, too?”

Straightening his shoulders, Danny replied firmly, “No, sir. I’m fine.”

“If you are, we need to –”

“I’m fine, sir.” Chin raised, eyes focused on a spot behind Steve’s head.

Steve studied him quietly. He knew what would happen if he reported back to the commander. Morris would put this kid through the paces, run him ragged until he was bone tired enough to either follow Tommy’s lead or fly right. Take himself out now or wait for the next suicide mission and give his life for the cause. Was that better or worse than what Tommy had done? Same outcome, different method.

But Steve knew what would happen if he lied. Same outcome. Different method. And this time, Steve would be complicit because he hadn’t done all he could.

He knew that look in Danny’s eye. He’d seen it once before.

When Steve entered the commander’s tent, he pulled off his hat in respect. Morris sat behind his desk, a fan blowing in his face as he read through a letter to Tommy’s family. Lead settled in Steve’s stomach, his throat tightening like a vice, trapping his words.

“Rogers,” Morris greeting, taking a drag off his cigarette. “How is Private O’Brien?”

Steve cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders. “He needs help, sir.” The commander’s lip curled, leveling Steve with an assessment. “I don’t think he’s ready to go back in the field. Not now.”

“Is he injured?”

“Well, no, sir, but –”

“Can he still hold a rifle?”

“Yes, sir, but –”

“Can he still run?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve bit out.

Morris shook his head, standing from his desk and shuffling to a nearby cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey, setting it down on the desk. He took a deep breath and rest his hand on his hip. “Listen, Rogers. Some soldiers wash out. That’s life.” He looked to Steve, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. “We got a whole nation counting on us to make things right.” He jutted a finger out, his brow furrowed. “You telling me to leave one of my men behind because he needs some ‘me time’?”

Steve averted his gaze, shoring himself up to speak candidly. Finally, he met Morris’ gaze, his words firm. “Sir, he’s unfit for duty. I’m worried about him.”

The commander held his gaze, his fingers closing around the neck of the bottle. The smell of tobacco wafted through the air, Steve’s stomach tightening into knots. After some time, Morris nodded and returned to his chair. “Very well. I’ll take your words under advisement. You may go.”

Six days later, Private Danny O’Brien leapt on a grenade, saving eleven men in Stuttgart. The papers called him a hero.

Steve didn’t sleep that night.

+

_Steve wasn’t just scared – he was terrified._

_Wind sliced through his hair, his bike rumbling powerfully between his thighs. Bucky’s hand tightened on his shoulders where he stood on the back of the bike, so much smaller than Steve. He’d always been smaller. His arms reached out, body shifting as he made to leap off the bike. Steve tried to grab for him, the back of Bucky’s jumpsuit slipping through his fingers._

_“We’re too late, Bucky! We’ll have to go after him in another plane.”_

_But Bucky didn’t listen. He never listened. He was stubborn that way. Steve would tell him – he’d always tell him, they must have been brothers in another life._

_Bucky leapt into the air, taking hold of the wing of the small plane. He flashed Steve a victorious smile as Steve’s blood curdled and chilled. “Bucky, let go! It could be booby trapped!”_

_Bucky let out a shout, grasping for a better grip. He looked to Cap with a panicked look in his eye. Steve’s heart dropped into his stomach, eyes caught on Bucky’s fingers sliding along the smooth edge of the wing._

_“You’re right, Cap. I can see the fuse. It’s gonna—”_

_A blinding flash of light as Steve was blown back, sinking through the air like an anchor, his hands thrust into the flames._

Steve awoke in a cold sweat, tremors coursing through his body.

Thin sheets clung to his bare chest, a cool damp spot where he’d lain. Breathing rushed and heavy, his heart pounding fast in his chest. For a moment, he was frozen in time. Powerless to move, lost in rumination, a chill in his bones. The burst of heat and hellfire committed to memory, sea salt burning in his eyes.

The look on Bucky’s face.

Steve shook himself, forcing his limbs to cooperate as he climbed out of bed. He padded quietly to the adjoining bathroom and ran some water over his face, avoiding his reflection. He knew he didn’t look good.

He hadn’t gotten more than a solid hour of sleep the past few weeks. With it had come an influx of waking nightmares. He worked out, he ate, he worked out some more and yet, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Bucky’s face. As it was that day, as it was before, as he saw it in his night terrors: badly burned, his eyes blackened, turned to ash.

Now, Steve found the image impossible to shake. He wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, that much was certain.

Pulling on a shirt, he padded down the halls to the kitchen. He made himself a glass of water and drank it slowly, in hope that it would quell his uneasy stomach. He’d had some nights like this during the war but never this many consecutively.

He hadn’t adjusted all that well in 1963. He made do, got right back in the uniform and made a name for himself with this team – these _Avengers_. Everyone was nice enough and he’d certainly found a pal in Iron Man, but, even so, Steve felt unsettled. When he wasn’t out in the field, he was lost, wandering this mansion like an old ghost.

Captain America was a living legend but, Steve hadn’t asked to be. There certainly wasn’t any rhyme or reason for him to be here when so many great men weren’t.

No reason he’d survived and Bucky had died that day.

So, Steve worked himself to the bone. Tried to make Bucky’s sacrifice worth it. Pushed down the harrowing thoughts that threatened to invade. The inescapable fact that he could die just as easily today as he could have that day by the water. If he had, he wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore –

He threw himself into every mission available and he pestered Fury for more. Tried to prove himself an asset – tried to prove himself useful. All the while wondering what good he was to the team when he hadn’t been able to keep his own partner alive. He’d let Bucky down. He’d let the Avengers down in due time. And when he did, when they saw him for what he was, they’d have no use for him.

The glass in hand shattered, his shirt washed in cool water. Cursing, Steve found his hand clenched in a fist, several shards embedded in his palm. Wincing, he rushed over to the sink and ran some water over it, watching it run in pink rivulets down the drain. Grabbing a dishtowel, he wrapped it around his hand before grabbing another and cleaning up the water.

When it came away grimy, he scrubbed at it a bit harder. Finally, he climbed to his feet and grabbed a bucket and a mop. He started on one spot on the floor and worked his way around the rest of the kitchen, finding peace in the quiet work. He remembered Tommy Gun, his thin shoulders sloped and broken, bent on hands and knees scrubbing the floors of the mess hall. He used to pray.

Steve shook the thought away, bile rising in his throat.

He worked until the floor was clean. Then he noticed a smudge on the oven and he set to that. Then he wiped down the counters, the stove top, a small coffee ring on the table.

When Tony appeared, Steve was on his hands and knees, hair stuck to his forehead as he scrubbed at a stubborn spot inside the bottom drawer of the fridge.

“Steve?”

Steve glanced back at him before returning to work. “Hi, Tony.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just thought I’d spruce the place up a bit.”

“At four in the morning?”

“So, you’re up early then,” he replied lightly, continuing to scrub.

Every time he got rid of one spot, he noticed another. And another, until everything started to feel unclean. He didn’t know when he’d started, but he’d guess it had been an hour or so ago. He’d taken the cabinets apart, setting their innards on the tables and counters to get at the shelves. He’d pulled out most of the fridge to get at the drawers. Next was the pantry.

Tony kneeled down next to him, his voice softening. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? You seem a little… stressed.”

Steve sensed Tony wasn’t easily dissuaded and he sighed, pulling out of the fridge to sit on the floor. Tony’s eyes had always been a marvel to behold: a darker blue than Steve had ever seen and startlingly bright, brimming with more clever ideas than Steve could ever imagine. Now, they were soft, the corners lined with concern as he kneeled in pants that probably cost more than Steve’s first apartment.

Steve’s hand tightened around the cloth, eyes falling to the makeshift bandage around his hand. He forced his voice steady. “I just need to clean. I saw a job that needed doin’, so I did it.” He could hear the undercurrent of annoyance in his tone, so he gentled it. “Is that so strange?”

It was quiet. When he looked up, Tony was studying him curiously. Then, he offered a small smile, unbuttoning his cuffs. He had such delicate wrists for a man. Steve had noticed them before he forced himself not to. Such soft features, soft hands; Steve figured them indicative of a rich man. Tony spent most of his time in board meetings and galas. He didn’t have time to work with his hands. Short of fixing up Iron Man’s armor, Steve supposed.

He’d often wondered what they might feel like on his face, on his body. Tracing over his skin like Steve was one of his many clever inventions.

Tony was such a beautiful man. Beyond that, he was kind and incredibly generous. As evidenced by his invitation to let Steve stay here. Even if it meant waking up at unfairly late hours in the night to find Captain America making a mess of his kitchen.

Steve’s face burned with shame. Tony rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the wash cloth from Steve’s hand. He flashed a simple grin, “Well, let’s get to work.”

+

Tony watched Steve a lot after that night.

Watched him work himself to exhaustion, staying behind after every call out to assist with clean up, meticulously taking notes during debriefs, greeting the postman with a kind word every afternoon. Returning sweaty and worn out from the gym every morning. Bruised and broken, steadily marching up the stairs after a few fights he could have won in his sleep. Up late, on his hands and knees scrubbing the floors free of dirt Tony couldn’t even see.

Tony had asked and he got an answer: no one thought there was anything wrong with Steve.

He was Captain America: their good soldier. He was strong, unshakeable, reliable. Showed up to every call out: first to arrive, last to leave. Friendly and kind, strong and true. He was everything the history books had written about him. By everyone’s measure, he was fine. But Tony Stark had a hunch and a chest full of shrapnel that made a case for how easy it was to dissuade others of their concerns.

He also knew, if Steve was anything like him, he’d go a long way to keep it that way.

So, Tony asked him to dinner.

Steve refused quite a few times. Tony didn’t push all that hard. He hadn’t even asked out of his armor. He figured it would be easier for Steve if the teammate he’d come to know extended the invitation. Instead, Steve declined every offer and distanced himself further from Tony in response.

Finally, Tony asked him one night in the kitchen, sans armor. Steve glanced at him over his shoulder before returning to the sink. Pouring out his nightly bucket of mop water, tendrils of soft blond hair stuck to his forehead. He wiped at it with back of his wrist, muscles flexing as his shirt pulled tight for one delightful moment.

His cheeks darkened as he cleared his throat, glancing at Tony for a brief moment. “Um, sure, Tony. If you’d like. But, you know, I’ve got more than enough food here.” Setting the bucket down, he offered a nervous smile. Tony was powerless to return it, leaning against the door jamb. Tony almost wished he didn’t have an ulterior motive.

“I know that,” Tony drawled, crossing his arms. “The whole point of me taking you out is to introduce you to food that doesn’t come prepackaged.” Steve glared lightly, resting a hand on his hip. “You in?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

Steve’s eyes softened and he ducked his head. With a quiet nod, he turned and set to washing his hands. Broad shoulders strung tight as he lathered and rinsed, lathered and rinsed, the light beaming down on him from above. Unsettled, Tony averted his gaze, working his hands nervously.

As he walked away, he could still hear the water running.

Minutes, hours later, he could still hear the water running.

+

Apparently, Steve didn’t have a lot of civilian clothes.

When he arrived in the foyer wearing a pair of brown slacks and a loose button down, Tony had to hide a smile. Steve had also thrown on an overcoat, a little misshapen in the back. No doubt hiding his shield on his back. Tony supposed he couldn’t complain; should Steve touch his chest or brush up against him, he’d feel the chest plate. When he stopped beside Steve, the blond slipped his hands into his pockets, the smile on his face filling Tony with a curious fluttering in his stomach.

“Where did you want to go?” Steve asked.

“How about Italian?”  

 

They walked to Sal’s. All the while, Tony regaled Steve with stories of his childhood. Initially, he’d done so because the lost look in Steve’s eyes had left him with a need to fill the silence. Steve listened intently and asked questions, even as his feet traced paths Tony would never know. Tony had thought the scenic route a wise choice earlier but, perhaps he’d been mistaken.

Steve moved through the city like a lost boy searching out his mother. His eyes scanned every building as though they’d been built by mistake. Same height, same place, and yet _wrong_ in some way. Tony wondered what it must feel like to come home and find that every single aspect of it had changed. His hands curled into fists in his pockets, fighting the urge to touch Steve’s shoulder in comfort, unsure if it would be welcome.

When they arrived at Sal’s, Tony got them a spot in the back. Steve focused intently on the menu, taking a lot longer than Tony initially understood. He watched curiously as Steve finally settled on an item at the top of the page. An appetizer and the cheapest thing on the menu.

“It’s my treat.”

Steve offered him a bashful smile. “I already eat you out of house and home.”

“And without you, we’d be throwing out a year’s worth of groceries that I’m never going to eat.”

He took Steve’s menu and ordered pasta carbonara for both of them. Steve shot him an interested glance as he took a sip of water, scanning the crowd. They were alone back here, the restaurant less crowded than usual on a Wednesday night. The lighting had always been sparse in this place, for more of an intimate feel. It softened Steve’s features and his next words made Tony’s face warm a bit.

“You come here often?” he asked.

Tony cleared his throat. “Not as often as I’d like. Sal was a good friend of the family before he passed. I try to come by and make sure the place is still running. It’s the best Italian food in New York.”

Steve smiled good naturedly. “Of course.” His eyes softened. “This place used to be a bakery way back when. Mrs. Polastri’s. She used to send me home with a few loaves once a month. Whatever didn’t sell that day. My Ma stretched them out for as long as she could.”

Tony gently tapped his fingers along the table, choosing his words carefully. “It’s hard seeing everything the way it is now, huh?” Steve averted his gaze. “Everything’s so different.”

“It is.” He thought for a second and offered a tentative smile. “But a lot of it’s the same. People still move through the streets like everyone’s in their way. There’s still a lot of diversity in the neighborhood. The snow still turns to sludge a few hours after it falls.” He paused for a moment. “It’s louder now. The streets are busier. It’s New York, Tony. I’ll always feel at home here.”

“But it’s not the same. Not the way you knew it.”

“And that’s good, in a lot of ways. I’ll admit, it was hard for me at first. A part of me will always think of this as ‘the future’ and not the present. When I first got here, that part of me just wanted to go back to my time. But, I see the benefit of what we did. I see what I went in the ice for. What Bucky died for,” his voice broke. “We fought for all of this and the fact that it’s still standing is enough to be proud of.”

Tony stared at him in awe. At Steve’s confusion, he smiled. “Nothing, it’s just... you really are everything they say you are.”

“I’m not.” He changed the subject, “I’m surprised you came out tonight without Shellhead.”

Tony averted his gaze. It never really felt right lying to Steve. “We’re not attached at the hip, you know?”

“He’s your bodyguard.”

“I can go out to dinner without him.” He took a sip of wine pointedly.

Steve studied him quietly. “Does he make you feel safe?” At Tony’s silence, he cleared his throat. “I’ve been wondering if it makes you feel safer to have someone around with you all the time.”

“You’d be surprised.” He tapped his fingers along the table top, his words soft. “Sometimes, it’s nice but, it is possible to feel alone in a crowded room. Sometimes, having someone there just means having an audience when you’re scared.”

Steve nodded, his shoulders stiffening. “I’m sorry.”

“Friends help, Steve. They listen when you need them to and I can’t tell you how helpful that is.”

His tone beguiled his concern more than he’d intended and Steve’s eyes narrowed. He studied Tony critically before nodding to himself. Tiredly, “Is this about the cleaning?”

“Well, yes. It’s just, I’ve got people to do that for me. If you’re concerned they’re not doing a good enough job—”

“Tony—”

“I can speak to them, but I don’t think that’s it.” He tried for a smile but Steve simply sighed.

“I kept my identity hidden during the war. More for the safety of my fellow shoulders, than myself. If my squad knew who I was, it would’ve run the risk of them being used by my enemies to find me. I pretended to be just like any other cadet and my superiors assigned me duties. Often times, I was on cleaning duty. I scrubbed the floors, cleaned tables, did laundry. It was what I did. Sometimes… I find it calms me to do that work here. That’s all it is. It helps that some things stay the same.”

His eyes were clear blue and honest. Same as they’d ever been. Perhaps, Tony may have overreacted. “Well, have at it,” he offered.

Steve nodded. Then, quietly, “But, it would be nice if, from time to time, you… helped. If you wanted.”

Tony warmed. “If I wanted?”

Steve bit his lip and nodded once. Tony hid a smile.

+

Steve performed every task with that same stubborn focus he employed in the field.

Even now, Tony watched him stubbornly scrub at a spot in the fridge, brow furrowed. How he’d managed to fit that much of his large body inside the small appliance, Tony would never know. He stood at the counter watching Steve’s arms flex and tense, his muscles bulging delightfully. Just watching him often left Tony wonder what it would feel like to have those arms wrapped around him.

He averted his gaze to the counter, running a washcloth over it absently. “So, you have any plans for the weekend?”” Steve hummed, continuing to work. “Go into the city? Check out a museum? Maybe see a movie?”

“I was going to stay in.”

 _You always stay in,_ Tony thought. “I think there’s a new western out.” More stubborn scrubbing. “You could go.”

“Tony,” he began.

“It’s just that it’s been six months since you moved in and I feel like I’ve never seen you take a few days off.” Steve pulled out of the fridge, standing up and brushing his hair back from his face. “You can take a few days off.”

Steve looked tired. Exhausted, if Tony was being honest. Shadows under his eyes, shoulders sloped and heavy. He set the washcloth down on the counter and studied Tony for a minute. Under his scrutiny, Tony was all too aware of the fact that he wasn’t exactly dressed for housework in his dress shirt and slacks. He was also aware of the fact that, with Steve now standing, they were quite close to each other.

And Steve wasn’t happy.

“You want to go out with some dame and have a good time this weekend, you can,” Steve said, holding Tony’s gaze steadily. All that focus and Tony felt his heart tick up a beat. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Steve,” he began, losing his words moments later.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” He rested a heavy hand on Tony’s shoulder with a smile.

Tony tried another tactic. “You’re my friend. It ever occur to you that I might want to spend time with you outside of cleaning the house?”

Steve’s eyes widened, his hand tightening on Tony’s shoulder. Finally, he averted his gaze with a nod. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He straightened and asked, “What time did you want to go?”

+

It wasn’t easy dragging Steve to things, but Tony got him out of the house a few times.

A few movies, a trip to the museum, a few walks around the park. The walks were best. Steve got fidgety in the dark and the quiet of somber scenes. Tony was still kicking himself about the ill-advised trip to the museum. Steve had been nothing but gracious and polite but that haunted look in his eye never waned. Every exhibit had simply reminded him of all the things he’d missed.

But the park, Central Park, was where things had mostly stayed the same. It was perfect. It was outdoors with all the fresh air and the street lamps keeping the trails illuminated in a beautiful glow.

This night, Steve actually chimed in with his own stories. Tales of his life before the war, growing up during the depression. All with a level of nostalgia Tony found impossible to imagine. What it must be like to be the only one left alive to tell these stories.

They sat on a park bench, Steve stretching out an arm behind Tony’s back. “The Thanksgiving parade used to pass by my neighborhood. One year, they actually passed through my street.” The corner of his mouth turned up, eyes alit with something sweet that made Tony smile. “I got to watch them. I got to watch the dancers. It was one of the best days of my life.”

“You like parades?”

“I was a child,” he said, by way of explanation, cuffing the back of Tony’s head playfully. “It was just nice to see the people so happy for once. You know, we didn’t have much. The floats and the crowd and all that excitement took our focus away for a little while.”

His lashed fanned out over his cheeks, rosy red from the cold. Tony’s gaze fell to his mouth, watching his lips turn in as he chose his next words carefully. “The war took a lot out of us.”

“Can’t have been easy,” Tony replied.

“No, it wasn’t.” He cleared his throat. “My father never fully recovered. Took a slug during a scrap and was lucky to keep his leg. My Uncle Eddie, that’s what I called him, he was… different.”

“Different?”

The lamplight washed his face in a soft glow. “Found it hard to adjust after. I remember,” he cut himself off, his voice rough. “They didn’t have a word for it. His mind didn’t work right.”

“What happened to him?”

“He had a wife and a family. When things got bad, really bad, they couldn’t handle it. Meredith took the kids and left. Nobody ever heard from them again.” He scratched at his brow, growing quieter. “Eddie drank himself to death in fifty-seven.” He cleared his throat, jaw tensing. “Not everyone is meant to be a soldier.”

His head rose, eyes focused on a spot far in the distance. “I’m glad things are a little different now. As much as I wish some things had stayed the same.” He took Tony’s hand and squeezed it once, his words soft. “I’m glad I have someone to talk to.”

+

One night, Tony poked his head into Steve’s room to fetch him for dinner and walked in on him changing. He got half way through his apology when he caught sight of Steve’s back, his stomach twisting violently.

The broad expanse was covered in sickening shades of purples and blues, trailing up to the deep bruising over the cap of Steve’s shoulder. His left side was covered in healing bruises, four circular marks along Steve’s hip from unmistakable handprints. A dark band along the nape of his neck as though someone had held him down.

Steve looked like he’d gone to war and back.

“Tony?” he turned around, t-shirt in hand, offering a smile. “Did you need something?”

Swallowing, Tony entered the room and closed the door quietly behind himself. Steve’s eyes widened in concern as Tony reached out, his fingers stopping just short of touching the painful discoloration over Steve’s ribs. His chest didn’t look that much better than his back.  

Tony’s mouth was dry. “What happened?”

Steve blinked in confusion before following Tony’s line of sight. He laughed softly, pulling the shirt over his head. Out of sight didn’t put the image out of Tony’s mind. It only worried him more; how often had Steve hidden this kind of thing? Had he gone out in the field like this?

“I was training at Fogwell’s. No big deal. I’ll be all healed up in a couple days.”

His words gave Tony pause. “This is normal for you?”

His tone drew Steve to face him head on. “Tony, don’t sound so worried. The things I can do, I can’t just lift weights and spar with just anyone.”

“So, what do you do?”

Steve held his gaze for a moment before sensing Tony wasn’t planning on letting this go. His mouth worked for a moment as he sat on the edge of his bed. “I met some guys that help me out from time to time.”

“How often do you do this?”

“I don’t know. Two, maybe three times a week? I spend most of my time training on my own but, sometimes that’s not enough. I need a challenge.”

“How many guys did this?” He moved in closer, arms crossed.

Running a hand over his head, he was a little sheepish in his response. As if he expected a scolding of some sort. “About fifteen, maybe twenty.”

Tony’s body was strung tight like a band. It was hard to imagine Steve willingly climbing into a ring and taking such a punishment. Or leaving the gym in such a state and calling it “training”.

Pacing, Tony tried a different tactic, “Well, not that it’ll be quite this much fun for you but, I’m going on a business trip to Madripoor soon. I could use a self-defense course and who could be better than Captain America?”

Steve blinked at him in surprise. Most likely because he’d expected a much longer discussion about his “training” regimen. “Really?”

“Really.” He moved in closer, lowering his voice coyly. “You wouldn’t leave me to fend for myself in that den of thieves, would you?”

Steve’s eyes darkened, gazing up at Tony in the dimly lit room. This close, an outsider looking in would assume they were standing this close in a different context. Tony could smell Steve’s aftershave, a woody scent that drew him in closer. He offered a sly smile, one that sent a flash of heat down Tony’s spine.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. But you’ll have Ol’ Shellhead with you.”

“Can’t. Sends the wrong message.”

Steve nodded, eyes trailing up Tony’s body slowly. His voice was rough. “Just say when.”

+

When Steve had healed up, and Tony made sure he had, Tony dressed in loose pants and met Steve in the small gym, turning training room, in the mansion. Steve stood on the mat, a little apprehensive as he took in Tony’s form. And, while Tony knew he was in pretty damn good shape for a man with his heart condition, it still set him on edge. He felt like Steve was zeroing in on every single one of his flaws.

“You’re sure about this? I’m sure Jan would be happy to help you.”

Tony cocked his head to the side, resting his hands on his hips and mirroring Steve’s pose. “I’m sure she would, but I asked you, big guy. What’s wrong? You scared?”

Steve smiled bemusedly, moving in closer. “Well, let’s try this: come at me.”

“What do you mean?” If this was how Steve usually. “trained”, no wonder he’d gotten hurt.

Steve’s smile widened. “Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

Tony braced himself, taking in a deep breath before he launched himself forward.

And moments later, his back slammed into the far wall, much softer than he would have expected considering Steve’s strength. Steve stood in the center of the mat, in the same exact spot, eying Tony almost apologetically.

Tony tried three times. Each ended about the same: Steve putting him on his back with a soft laugh. Holding out a hand, he offered a friendly smile as Tony gazed up at him in fond annoyance.

“Let’s get started.”

Steve guided him through the basics: how to fall, how to properly throw a punch, how to fell someone larger than him. Eternally patient and incredibly thorough; so much so that Tony felt a slow burning heat coursing through his body, igniting with every brush of Steve’s hands on his bare skin. His broad hands on Tony’s hips as he instructed him on how to follow through on a punch. On Tony’s thighs as he fixed his stance. On his lower back as he corrected his posture.

Now, he stood behind Tony, his voice rumbling through Tony’s body. “Now, you want to feel your stomach tighten here.” His palm landed on the center of Tony’s stomach, his chest pressed tight against Tony’s back.

Breath catching, there was static in Tony’s ears as he tried to focus. Almost unbidden, his head turned, eyes drawn to Steve’s mouth as he spoke. Overly warm, his mind clouded with the scent of Steve’s sweat and aftershave. Arousal coiled in his center, spreading throughout his body like a fever he couldn’t shake.

The instant Steve’s eyes met his, his heart skipped a beat. Dark and curious, Steve’s tongue slid out to wet his lips. They curled into a smile, gravelly and teasing as he asked, “Are you even listening to me?”

Tony’s heart beat wildly in his chest and he nodded. “Of course. Life changing stuff you’re teaching me here.”

Steve moved to stand in front of him again, legs spread apart, a challenge in his eyes. “Let’s try this again. Give me everything you’ve got.”

+

Tony met Steve for training quite a bit afterwards.

Kept him busy with days out and nights on the training mat. Sure, Tony went to bed bruised and woke up sore, but it meant Steve was too worn out to go to the gym. It meant Steve barely had free time to wallow and stand on the balcony brooding. It meant Tony could sleep without worrying about Steve.

Sometimes, Tony found him on his hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor in the middle of the night. He used to take it as a sign of failure but, now, he simply pushed his sleeves up and joined him. Steve didn’t always acknowledge it but, at the end of every night, he poured the water out with a quiet thank you and goodnight as he passed. However, most nights passed without the sound of a bucket filling up with soapy water.

It was working. Tony was helping.

Then Fin Fang Foom decided New York was a little too safe and made a day trip. Tony and the others touched down in the center of chaos, Wasp hurrying to get civilians to safety while Tony and Giant Man set about trying to figure out a solution. Whatever idea Tony had come up with was rendered completely irrelevant the moment Steve put himself in the line of fire.

He’d claim afterward that he’d caught sight of a child or a family of four. Something just plausible enough that it justified his actions to the others. Not to Tony, who knew they had two team members capable of flight and taking a hit like that with no trouble at all. Two Avengers who could take being thrown several feet into solid brick and bounce back with no trouble whatsoever.

Two Avengers who would’ve gone back to the mansion bruised and slightly annoyed. Not riding to the nearest hospital in an ambulance.

Tony really thought he was helping.

+

“I’m fine, Tony,” Steve insisted.

Tony continued pacing, focused on the carpet beneath his feet. Steve was honestly surprised he hadn’t worn a path in it by now. Admittedly, it was almost… _nice_ that Tony cared so much. It had been a while since Steve felt truly connected to someone and Tony had somehow wormed his way into Steve’s heart. And, by the looks of things, the futurist, the man of tomorrow – he’d found something in Steve worth keeping around.

Now, he was pacing the room as though Steve had personally offended him by getting injured.

“You broke six ribs and shattered your clavicle.”

“I’ve fought through worse,” Steve replied blandly.

Tony stopped in his tracks, shooting Steve an affronted glare. He strode over, pushing Steve back on the bed. Were it not for the pillows behind his head, Steve would’ve been knocked flat on his back. Tony’s hand stayed in the center of his chest, his warmth seeping into Steve. Shifting a little, Steve gazed up at him, ignoring the uptick in his heartbeat.

“That’s not as comforting as you think it is, tough guy.” His eyes softened as he sat down next to Steve. “We need you around, okay? Can you understand that?”

 _The job comes first._ “I’m a soldier first, Tony.”

“You’re a _person_ first.” He stroked Steve’s chest, almost absent mindedly. Steve didn’t think he realized he was doing it. His blue eyes were firm and focused, giving Steve pause. “Remember that.”

He held Steve’s gaze, waiting for a response. There was a niggling feeling in Steve’s chest. One that made him warm, his insides melting as he felt himself nod once. Tony smiled, watching as Steve settled back into the pillows.

Steve offered a small smile. “I guess this puts our training on hold for a bit.”

“As much as I’d like to put you on your back, I think a strong wind could blow you over at the moment.” Tony returned the smile, his words soft, “I can wait for you. I’m very patient.”

+

Tony returned for training the moment Steve was better.

He wasn’t fooling anyone; least of all Steve. He knew the reason Tony kept this going wasn’t out of any real need for self-defense lessons. The trip to Madripoor had come and gone and Tony was still here. Iron Man never left his side and he was still here. Tony was clearly using these sessions as an opportunity to keep a watchful eye on Steve and Steve, god help him, let him.

It meant more alone time with Tony. All that steadfast focus, the dazzling smiles and sweet teasing. Time spent with justifiable excuses to run his hands over Tony’s body. To hold him close under the guise of guiding him. Tempting himself and risking everything he’d built here for a few hours of joy.

Steve was living for these sessions, the impromptu dinners and walks around the park. These moments of respite, however brief, where he didn’t have to think about everyone he hadn’t saved. Worrying about whether the next call out, or the next, or the next would be his last. When he was with Tony, none of that seemed to matter.

So, when Tony stopped showing up at his door, Steve was more than a little concerned. At first, he thought he’d done something untoward and Tony had realized what Steve was getting out of this. Then Tony didn’t show for dinner the next night, or the next, or the next. He missed a few call outs.

Then Wanda came to find Steve.

She told him there’d been an incident with Iron Man at the United Nations building. She’d said more, but Steve hadn’t believed it. There was no way Iron Man had killed the ambassador in cold blood.

He tried contacting Tony but he didn’t respond. The next time Steve saw him again, two weeks had passed. Steve was standing at the toaster, waiting on his breakfast when Tony appeared. He looked worse for wear: five o’clock shadow going on ten, eyes bloodshot and hazy. He shuffled forward unsteadily, his shoulder knocking into the doorjamb as he entered the kitchen.

He smelled like a distillery, the scent turning Steve stomach. As he turned, he tried to shake away memories of shouting and sharp pain. “Tony,” he greeted. Tony paid him no mind, pouring himself a mug of coffee. “Tony?”

Glancing over, Tony’s eyes widened a bit before he returned to his coffee. “Cap.”

He stared to move past when Steve reached out to touch his arm. “I heard about Shellhead. Are you alright?”

Tony blinked at him. “’M fine.” When he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You look a little worn down.”

“’M just tired.”

“Are you sure it’s just that?” Hesitantly, he moved in closer. “You look unwell.”

He reached out to touch Tony’s arm again, watching as he whipped away violently. “Don’t touch me.”

Stunned at the vitriol, he froze in place. “I wasn’t – I wasn’t trying to – I was going to suggest you take a break. Get some rest.”

Tony slid past him muttering, “Right, like you do, Captain Perfect.” He didn’t spare Steve a second glance as he left the room. “Can do everything except take his own damn advice.”

+

Steve tried to keep an eye on Tony after that.

It wasn’t easy. Slowly but surely, Iron Man became a part of their lives again. After a rather enlightening reveal, Steve found out Tony had been right beside him in the armor the whole time. Things seemed to get better for a little while but Tony had never quite regained that same self-assurance. He kept his distance from Steve and made it incredibly difficult for Steve to keep track of him.

Before, Tony had always sought Steve out on his own. Popping in with invitations to the cinema or special exhibits at the Met. Once, he’d even invited Steve to the introduction of two new penguins at the zoo. Anything he thought might keep Steve from slipping back into that dark place, trapped alone with his grief.

Now that Steve was in Tony’s position, he realized how lucky he’d been. Trying to pin Tony down was impossible when he didn’t want to be found. Jarvis was no help; Tony and he had a fight that he very graciously refused to give details about. When he wasn’t at his office, he was hiding out and telling Mrs. Arbogast to tell people he was. Asking around, it quickly became clear that no one knew where Tony was. Jan had no clue. Rhodey was MIA. None of the other Avengers knew. After Iron Man had quit, Steve’s concern reached new heights.

It took a little over three weeks before Steve managed to find him. Holed up in a motel room littered with bottles, the heavy curtains drawn, keeping the room awash in darkness. Steve had told the hotel manager it was an emergency to get an extra key. He hadn’t wanted to risk that Tony wouldn’t let him in.

The room smelled of whiskey and sex, stopping Steve in the doorway. He turned on a nearby lamp, illuminated the mess of empty bottles and discarded clothes littering the floor. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Tony’s still form, passed out on his stomach. A lithe brunette laid beside him, fast asleep. The placement of the sheets left very little doubt about what happened here and Steve politely turned away as he rapped his knuckles on the door.

Groaning, Tony woke up slowly, bedsprings shifting as his companion rose from her slumber. With his head down, Steve listened to their quiet whispering, a wet kiss before she passed through the door in a haze of perfume. When the door closed behind her, Steve returned to Tony. Sheets pooled around his waist, Steve wasn’t sure if he was anymore clothed than his bedmate had been.

Burning with anger, he fought to keep his face clear. He’d just opened his mouth when Tony pressed a hand to his forehead, curling over his knees. Shirtless, it was worryingly easy to make out the shifting of his ribs underneath his sallow skin. Steve stepped forward, hands clenched at his sides as he studied him concernedly. By the looks of things, Tony hadn’t had a good meal in several weeks. How long had he been here?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Tony rasped, eyes trained on Steve. The barely restrained anger there gave Steve pause.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re worried about me.” He sniffed, a rough cough escaping as he reached for the bottle on the nightstand. “I don’t need you to come babysit me and I don’t need your permission to have a good time.”

“Is that what this is?” Steve asked, striding forward, hands resting on his hips. His arms were tight, tense as he resisted the urge to haul Tony over his shoulder, bare as the day he was born, and march him out of here. “A good time?”

Tony shrugged, holding the rim to his lips. “I forgot, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

He tipped his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His chest was thin, paler than Steve remembered. Tony usually looked as though he’d spent several days lying on a beach. Now, he looked as though he’d been in a sick bed for days. A bead of whiskey escaped his lips, trailing down his chin and down his chest, his stomach, disappearing into the nest of hair beneath the sheets. Steve swallowed, mouth dry as his blood warmed.

“You know how many people are looking for you?”

Tony laughed, setting the bottle down between his thighs. “Counting you? One.”

Steve moved in closer, coming to stand a few feet away from Tony. Gazing up at him, Tony’s eyes widened. “We were all worried about you.”

Tony studied him for a good while, a faraway look in his eye. Red rimmed and glassy, he focused on a spot on the wall, a pained twist to his mouth. “Jarvis left.”

“He did?”

“Couldn’t deal with it anymore.” He lowered his head, his voice rough. “You know how long he’s been with me?” He thought for a moment, hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. “I don’t even know.” He took another long sip, wiping at his mouth.

Steve crossed his arms, fighting the urge to reach out. “He’ll come back if you apologize.”

“What’s there to come back to?”

“Tony—”

“I’m honestly asking. All I do is screw up everything I touch. Anyone that gets close to me, I let them down or they let me down or they die.”

“Tony—"

“Stop saying my name like that,” he bit out, eyes blazing when they met Steve’s. “You’re talking to me like I’m a child. Like you’re disciplining me.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Well don’t,” he spat. “I don’t need it. This is just a few nights out. That’s all. I just needed some time.” He nodded to himself, tracing the rim of the bottle. “A vacation. Where I don’t have to worry about what people want from me or what the company needs. What Rhodey needs. What Indries needs. What you all need. Everyone’s so damn needy. You expect too much of me.”

He lifted the bottle and Steve felt his temper flare. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

Tony’s eyes lit up excitedly as he took another swig, holding Steve’s gaze as he downed the rest of the bottle. Dropping it to the carpet, he stretched out on the bed with a wry grin. The sheets slid down one toned thigh, revealing a stretch of skin. Tony was naked beneath that white cotton.

Steve’s stomach tightened, liquid heat pooling in his center. “I’m trying to figure out what bothers you more,” Tony said, studying the Steve curiously from the bed. “The drinking or the sex. You’re a good little Irish boy. Even the army didn’t knock that out of you.” His palm landed on his stomach, sliding lower as he spoke. “It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Steve rasped. “Stop trying to provoke me.”

“Why? ‘S it working?” The hand slid lower, Steve powerless to watch its descent. Those clever fingers slipped beneath the sheet. “I found her in a club. Didn’t even know her name. Still don’t. I brought her back here and fucked her in this bed.” He arched, eyes falling shut.

Steve’s face burned as he tried to keep his focus. “You have to come back to the mansion, Tony.”

“Why?” His eyes slid open, genuinely curious. “What’s left for me there? I can’t be Iron Man anymore.”

“It’s your home.” _And you made it mine._ “Come back with me. We’ll figure this out. Get you help.”

Tony blinked at him. “What?”

Steve’s voice softened. “It’s okay to need help. We’ll find you someone to talk to. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Tony sat still for a long time. Then he sat up, a laugh escaping. “Do you even hear yourself?” He gazed up at Steve in disbelief. “You want to help me?”

“Tony, look at where you are!”

“You can’t even help yourself!” he shouted, his breathing heavy. “You don’t sleep, you don’t leave the mansion unless I make you or there’s a bullet you can jump in front of. You spend your days trying to kill yourself and you have the nerve to stand here and tell me that I need help.”

A car passed by outside, headlights illuminating the dimly lit room. The blades of a low flying helicopter, the pounding of Steve’s heart in his chest. His throat tightened as he took a step back, his jaw tensing.

For a moment, just a second, Steve thought he saw Tony’s eyes widened in regret. It was the only reason Steve stopped in the doorway. The only reason he said, “You’ll let me know if you change your mind.”

Tony watched him silently, his face drawn. The longer Steve stayed, the more he saw Eddie’s sunken eyes staring back at him. Tommy Gun’s sad twist of the mouth and Danny’s blank face.

Steve stepped into the hallway, feet growing heavier with every step.

+

Steve was unwrapping his hands in Fogwell’s gym when he heard about Tony.

Jan told him Tony was in a nearby hospital recovering from hypothermia and DTs. While Steve was certainly relieved to hear that Tony was okay, he was stuck in place under a tremendous amount of doubt. He felt a deep-seated need to rush to Tony’s side. So he could see him in person, speak to him, to be able to reach out and touch him and make certain that Tony was really okay. It was near painful to resist that urge and stay in his apartment.

It had been so long since he’d seen Tony and he didn’t know if he’d be welcome.

He’d started to wonder if Tony had been wrong that day.

Without him, Steve spent all his time either going over old team footage or cleaning his apartment. He was rarely seen around the mansion. It just wasn’t the same and he couldn’t walk the halls without thinking of the nights he’d spent with Tony, radio playing quietly as they scrubbed the place from top to bottom. The nights he’d practically carried Tony to bed because they’d stayed up late watching movies in the den. The nervousness he’d felt every time he dropped Tony off at his room and they said their goodnights. The strange anticipation that made Steve step back with a smile, even as every part of him wanted to move in closer.

Without Tony, Steve reverted back to his long days and even longer nights.

Which was why he found himself in the training room, pounding on the punching bag, three weeks later.

“Looks like you could use a moving target,” a voice called out. Steve paused, heart beating faster as he caught the bag in his arms. A fluttering warmth bloomed in his chest. “One that can hit back.”

Steve turned, wiping at his forehead as Tony came into view. Standing in a suit a little too large for his frame. He looked tired, but he looked well. Sober.

Steve rested his hands on his hips as Tony drew nearer, almost hesitant. “Is that right?”

Tony came to a stop a few feet in front of Steve. That familiar cologne washed over him like a warm hug. Scratching at his brow, Tony drew Steve’s attention to the small scar poking out from under his hairline. His eyes cut to Steve for a moment before darting away.

“I’ve been, uh,” he cleared his throat, straightening up. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage to come and talk to you.” The corner of his mouth ticked up a bit. “Part of the program is making amends and I owe you an apology. What I said to you that day in my hotel room… I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I shouldn’t have said any of that and I was just saying it to hurt you. Not that that’s an excuse,” he hurried to say. “I just… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I said.”

Steve’s chest tightened as Tony offered a small smile. “So, I’m here to grovel and to tell you that I miss you. I’m only my best when I’m with you.”

Steve softened and he averted his gaze to the mat, taking a step back. “Well, you’re in pretty bad shape.” Tony’s eyes widened adorably. Steve fought to keep his face stern. “I think you need a refresher course.”

Grinning, Tony reached for his top button. His eyes crinkled in the corners, drawing a smile from Steve in return. “Who am I to argue with a living legend?”

+

Tony came down to the training room a few times after that and Steve put him through the paces.

He was in worse shape than he’d been before, having lost quite a bit of muscle in that time. He had to take more breaks and his punches had nowhere near as much power behind them as they had before. From time to time, Steve would find himself watching Tony curiously, wondering if he’d give up. But, every time Tony left, he always returned.

He kept showing up.

With that, Steve had started allowing himself to look forward to their time together. After Tony had been MIA, after Iron Man quit the Avengers and they fought in that hotel room, Steve had reconsidered his reliance on Tony’s company. It didn’t matter that a vicious part of him thought Tony’s words that day had been accurate. Didn’t matter that he’d been more than a little reckless afterwards. All that mattered was that Steve had a job to do. The world continued to spin on and the people needed their captain. He couldn’t afford to fall apart again if his best friend decided not to speak to him again.

While Tony met him for training, he didn’t seek Steve out as much as he had before. There weren’t any late-night invitations to all night diners or surprise movie tickets. The new NASA exhibit at the museum had gone unmentioned which hurt; Steve knew how much Tony loved space. Whether he was avoiding Steve out of guilt or he didn’t have the energy he used to, Steve wasn’t sure. It was that faraway look in Tony’s eye, the tension in his body that left Steve unsettled when Tony left the training room.

Steve let it go until he realized that he was, once again, relying on Tony to take care of Tony. There was something to be said for independence, sure, but Tony hadn’t left Steve alone when he’d needed company. Steve owed it to him to repay the favor.

So, one night, he mustered up the courage to show up outside of Tony’s room with a pizza and Clue, of all things. His knees locked up, words caught in his throat as he knocked on the door and waited. It was quiet, long enough that Steve feared Tony wasn’t in Then, there were quiet footsteps and the door opened. Tony stared at him in surprise. His eyes were red, cheeks flushed as though he’d been crying.

He wiped at his face, his voice low. “Steve? What are you doing here?”

Steve took in the shadows beneath his eyes and the twist to his mouth. He held up the board game with a bashful smile. “I thought you might want some company?”

Tony looked extremely tempted to say ‘no’ but, in looking at the hopeful look on Steve’s face, he sighed and stepped back, letting Steve pass.

Tony set up the game on a small fold out table. The only other seating available was a desk chair covered in broken and bent pieces of Iron Man’s armor. Steve felt a nervous fluttering in his stomach as he sat down beside Tony on the bed. Tony didn’t seem to take note of it, laying out the board.

They began the game somberly, a far cry from their previous hang outs. There were no bawdy tales told to make Steve blush and stammer; no playful teasing and digs at Steve’s history. No charming, magnetic smiles that sent Steve to bed with sweet dreams and desires that would have gotten him court martialed back in his time. None of that magnetic closeness, the low tones that drew him closer to Tony in hopes that someday, _one day_ , something might happen between them.

But it was certainly better than the time they’d spent apart. So, Steve kept his distance and drew no attention the unsettled feeling in his stomach.

Tony took up one of the cards, his long lashes fluttering over his cheeks. “A few weeks ago, I would’ve spent my Friday night in a dive bar.” His mouth quirked, blue eyes focused on the board. “It’s been difficult to adjust to spending them alone in my room.”

“You don’t have to.” Tony looked to him doubtfully. “You can spend them with me. Playing board games,” he offered with a smile.

“Crazy nights.”

“Absolutely wild.” Tony laughed softly, warming Steve a bit.

“Thanks, but I wasn’t fishing for company.” He took a deep breath. “I have to adjust to spending time on my own,” he bit his lip, “without drinking. It’s an important part of recovery. If I can’t trust myself to abstain when I’m alone, how can I trust myself at all?”

“It takes time, Tony. Just like anything else.”

“I know that’s what everyone says but, I can’t help but feel like nothing’s ever going to change.” His voice grew rough, “That I’m never going to get better.” He looked to Steve, his eyes wet. “Maybe this is all there is.”

“I don’t believe that.” Tony returned to the board, his lip caught between his teeth. Steve leaned forward, taking his hand and drawing Tony’s attention. “Hey, I’m proud of what you’re doing here.”

Tony’s eyes widened wondrously, his breathing shallow. “You are?” Steve nodded. Tony held his gaze for a long time, his focus never wavering. Then he nodded, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Thanks, Cap.”

“Anytime, Shellhead.”

Tony’s face shuttered, his hand tensing beneath Steve’s. “I hurt a lot of people.” He held Steve’s gaze, his words soft. “People I really care about.”

Breath catching, Steve licked his lips nervously and drawing Tony’s eyes. His heart ticked up a beat as his hand tightened around Tony’s.   

+

Tony was still recovering when the Wrecking Crew started up their usual mayhem in Midtown.

He may have needed time but the city needed Iron Man. Against Steve’s advice, he suited up and went out into the field. It was hard adjusting to being Iron Man again. Rhodey had done it for so long. The first trial after, he’d gotten sick in the helmet. It was suffocating, the compression, the sounds of his heavy breathing, his nervous fingers flexing in the gauntlets. This suit had caused him so much grief and he was jumping right back into the fray, because the people needed him.

He sucked it up. Suited up and shut up. He kept up appearances with the team. As much as he could stand before he found himself in his room once more. Steve wouldn’t let him hide himself away.

He showed up to Tony’s room quite a bit. With more board games, food and soda pop. He tried his best to channel some of Tony’s classic charm, pasting on shiny, white smiles that were a little to poster boy for Tony’s tastes. However, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find the act endearing. Steve was trying so hard to make Tony’s new life bearable. Plus, it was easier to pass the time with Steve instead of sitting alone in the insufferable quiet of his room.

They continued their training sessions in between call outs and meetings as Tony tried to get his company back on track. They worked to help Tony regain his strength. It was hard work and Tony went to bed sorer than every night before, but it was better than the alternative. It kept his mind busy, his body too tired to do much more than haul himself up to bed. Too tired to get dressed for a night out. Too tired to take a trip to the liquor store.

Too tired to think too much about why everything was easier when he was on the receiving end of those kind smiles and warm touches. Why just being near Steve lessened the anchor on his chest. Why he found it harder to _stop_ smiling than to start these days. Why he felt that excited flutter in his chest when he heard that familiar knock on the door.

He was too tired to think about it but wise enough to know not to act on it. He’d just started trying to get his life back together and he didn’t need to ruin the one good thing he had going in his life.

So, he pushed it down and now he stood across from Steve on the mat, watching Steve smile and beckon Tony towards him, a challenge in his eyes. “I’m going to teach you something new today. Come and try to take me down.”

“Oh, I’m not falling for that again.”

Steve’s smile widened, the fondness in his gaze sending that familiar rush of warmth through Tony’s body. It’d been happening more and more now and Tony didn’t know how to stop it.

“Come on, Tony.”

How could he say no?

Stretching his legs out behind him, he readied himself. Taking it at a run, Tony tried to tackle Steve. Steve spun around Tony’s back, arm curling tight around Tony’s waist. Tony’s stomach flipped, vision whirling as Steve quickly turned them and put Tony down on his back.

Panting, Tony stared up at him dazedly, heart pounding in his chest. Steve beamed down at him, blue eyes alit with laughter.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked gleefully, Tony’s face warming in response.

Breathless, Tony arched, Steve’s muscled thigh slipping between his own. A gasp escaped and Steve’s eyes widened, his hands coming down flat on the mat beneath Tony’s head.

One heartbeat.

Another.

Their mouths came together seamlessly, connecting in the center as Tony took hold of Steve’s waist and pulled him down to take his weight. Steve let out a soft groan, welcoming Tony’s tongue as he licked into his mouth. Tony’s fingers slid into his hair, the kiss growing hungry and needy, hips rolling up against Steve’s. Body heat melting into him as Tony spread his legs wider and asked for more.

+

Tony couldn’t tear his eyes off of Steve and their intertwined hands. The contrast between his Steve’s pale Irish skin and his darker, olive tone. The easy way his hand fit into Steve’s, so much larger than his own. The certainty of his grip.

This was all real but Tony had a hard time believing it.

They’d spent so much of their time together before that… _dating_ wasn’t all that different. If that’s what they were doing. Tony wasn’t entirely sure. They spent their nights eating dinner together and met up after debriefs. They spent what little free time they had together and, when Steve didn’t sleep over at the mansion, Tony slept over with him in his apartment.

Steve seemed happy.

He smiled more and didn’t fight Tony as much to stay in on the weekends and clean or train. He laughed a lot and told more jokes. He was sweet and incredibly considerate. He never made Tony feel like a burden. Tony was happy. Steve seemed happy.

Then the Commission gave Steve an ultimatum: the shield or his freedom.

Steve came home in plain clothes, dropped off his bag and headed straight to the training room.

Then Carol fell down the bad path Tony understood all too well.

Steve came up to their room, changed and headed straight to Fogwell’s.

Then Wanda.

They lost the mansion and Tony followed Steve back to his place. Steve didn’t leave his bed for days.

Tony tried to pull him out of it. Tried to get him out of bed, to take a walk outside, to get up for a few hours and take a shower. Steve refused. He said he was fine so many times it no longer sounded like a word.

But he wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t eating.

And Tony didn’t know how to help him.

So, he went out in search of answers. Had Jan and Sam keep an eye on him while he did. When he returned to the apartment, the curtains were drawn. It was quiet, the soft pattering of rain on the windows. Tony set his jacket down on the couch and followed the path to the bedroom.

Steve was in the same spot Tony had left him in: curled up on his side in bed. His body softly rose and fell, his breathing quiet. Tony’s stomach twisted, nerves getting the best of him as he took his shoes off and padded softly over to the bed. When he sat down on the edge, Steve stiffened.

Then he rolled over, greeting Tony with a smile. Tony almost returned it.

He stroked Steve’s arm, murmuring, “Hey, Cap.” He moved in closer, stroked his cheek. Steve closed his eyes, his gruff beard scratching along the back of Tony’s hand. Tony took a deep breath. “Steve, honey, there’s a name for what you have.”

Steve gazed up at him, taking Tony’s hand in his. “I told you. I just get sad sometimes.”

“Maybe,” Tony murmured, tracing his thumb over Steve’s hand. “But maybe it’s more than that?” Steve shifted a little, watching as Tony averted his gaze. “There’s talk of a,” he struggled for the words, “a condition called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

Steve stiffened and Tony hurried to add, “Anyone can get it. Not just soldiers. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s not your fault. A lot of people have some form of it. They used to call it shellshock. I know the army used to tell their soldiers to ignore it.” His eyes warmed, voice rough. “Kept ‘em busy so they wouldn’t think about it. But they can treat it now. If you talk to someone. They can help you.”

Steve shook his head slowly, rasping, “I’m fine.”

“Don’t you think you need to talk to someone about this?”

“I have you.”

Tony swallowed thickly, averting his gaze to their hands. “And you’ll always have me.” He held Steve’s hand to his lips. “I just worry that I’m not enough.”

“You are.” Steve sat up, pulling Tony into his arms, murmuring, “You are.”

Tony nosed into his throat, taking in a shuddering breath.

+

Tony started construction on the tower.

He didn’t tell Steve initially. He wasn’t in the best headspace to begin with and he was busy taking on new missions for Fury. After the Avengers disassembled, Steve reported to Fury for duty. Tony didn’t think it a good idea.

Their first fight had been a long one.

Now, Steve spent a lot of his time overseas working for SHIELD and Tony was hiding blueprints from his boyfriend. But, he didn’t want to get Steve’s hopes up. He didn’t want him to put his faith in the chance at another team. Not this soon.

They still slept at Steve’s apartment. Tony had moved what little of his wardrobe he’d managed to salvage and Steve had given him a key. Things seemed better for a while.

Then, Tony awoke one night to find Steve at the foot of their bed, staring into the darkness. Back ramrod straight, his broad shoulders cutting a large outline in the shadows. Tony sat up, worried.

“Steve?” His breathing was quiet. “What’s wrong?”

Steve was silent for a long time. Then, “Nothing. It’s nothing. I thought I heard something.”

“You want to check it out?”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Already did. Nothing there.” His hands clenched in the bedclothes as his breathing quickened. “It’s all in my head.”

Tony touched his back, tensing when Steve recoiled. “You should go back to sleep. You have an early meeting tomorrow.”

“Can’t.”

“Steve,” he began.

“I can’t, Tony,” he insisted.

Tony paused, taking in Steve’s distress. “At least lay down.”

Steve shook his head, refocusing on the dark space ahead of them. So, Tony pulled the comforter up around their shoulders and settled next to him.

They kept watch for six hours.

+

When Tony awoke, Steve was watching him silently.

He’d stayed awake the whole night, even after Tony drifted off. He’d thought he’d be exhausted but adrenaline had kept him going for quite some time. And Steve had never needed as much sleep as the other soldiers. Around the seven-hour mark, he’d started to worry, his hands clenched in the blankets Tony had draped over his shoulders.

What if something was seriously wrong with him?

The truth was, Steve didn’t understand what he was doing here. He’d found a place on the team; with Tony. He’d found a place in a future that had never belonged to him. He was running on borrowed time. Struggling to prove himself useful. Trying not to be a burden.

He’d often wondered if things might have been easier for everyone if they’d left him in the ice.

Tony grumbled, shifting a little underneath the covers. His eyes opened slowly, gazing up at Steve groggily. “Are you okay?”

Steve averted his gaze, clearing his throat. “Are you going to tell the others?”

Tony sat up carefully, his voice soft. “What?”

Steve looked to him, his eyes firm. “Are you going to tell the others?”

Tony studied him for a moment, chewing on his lip. Then, “Don’t you think I should?”

“Tony—”

“After Carol and Wanda. Me,” he explained. “I can’t risk it.”

“If you do, someone’ll tell Fury and he won’t clear me for duty and I need this job, Tony.” Tony sighed, turning away so Steve reached out for his arm, drawing his attention. “Please don’t. I can do this.”

Tony sighed, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair and pressing his head to Steve’s. Steve pulled him into a tight hug, calming.

When he closed his eyes, he saw Eddie McCarrick sitting at a table covered in empty bottles. He saw Tommy Gun mindlessly sweeping the floors. Danny’s medal of valor. Tony’s bloodshot eyes, lost and searching. His own hands cracked and dry, scrubbing the floors tirelessly until he couldn’t see the blood any longer.

But Steve could still lead a team. He could still run. He could still hold a rifle.

He could still serve.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In researching the history of shellshock > Gulf War syndrome > PTSD, I found that the army used to essentially put their men on "bed rest" when they expressed unhealthy thoughts or suicidal thoughts. For some, the "treatment" was to keep them busy with menial tasks. 
> 
> Visit me on [tumblr!](https://capn-shellhead.tumblr.com)


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